


Oathkeepers

by Jarakrisafis



Series: Oath and Covenant [2]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-12-26 08:09:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/963600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jarakrisafis/pseuds/Jarakrisafis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pt 2: Oath and Covenant.</p><p>or: Earth. The final frontier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hoist

So, that was what Prime and Prowl had been conspiring about. A new gestalt. And they wanted to make a new medic. Of course we told them that preprogramming medics was difficult. It takes a very dedicated mech to see training through to the end and even those programmed and sparked as adults were no more likely to finish it despite having all the coding needed.

Prime had just nodded and said that they were going ahead, the need of the Autobot cause for another medic was just too big and besides even if the mech decides that being a medic isn't for him, at least we will have tried.

Across the office workbench Ratchet is gathering our drawing pad for us to design the frame, and then we'll need to download all our protocols and coding. So much to decide and Prime hasn't given us very long at all.

We had an input into the aerial gestalt to ensure that nothing would go wrong with the gestalt link, but we didn't design them. This is a whole new level of involvement and I can't help but liken it to us planning for a sparkling of our own.

At least we won't need to think of a name, as a preprogrammed he'll be created already knowing his designation.

"Here." Ratchet pushes the pad across to me, the rough outline of several frames and alt modes sketched out. "What do you think?"

"I'm not sure a rotary is a good idea." They tended to be quick to anger and temperamental, and while the alt mode was tempting: a search and rescue helicopter could get to things that Ratchet and I had trouble reaching, I just don't think it would work. The rest were all ground forms, from a small first response mech with the alt of a paramedic motorcycle, to a heavily armoured red cross tank. "I think we might be best sticking with an ambulance."

"Probably, just wanted to know what you thought." He erased the other designs and enlarged our chosen design. "Besides," he added as he added more detail. "We are going to put them into youngling frames, so if he doesn't like it he can change things on his adult frame before he gets transferred."

That was very true. The aerial gestalt had been created as adult mechs and the adaption of sparkling and youngling protocols alongside the fully formed adult coding had not gone very well. So we were trying something else, Prime would have liked to create this new gestalt as sparklings, but we just didn't have the mechs needed to both look after them and protect them. So they would be sparked as younglings in the hopes that things would mesh better and create a slightly less volatile team.

Picking up my own stylus I leant over the pad and began to add my own input, Prime wanted a medic, we would give him the best designed medic he could ask for.


	2. First Aid

"For the last time Ratchet. Stand still." I flared my armour in irritation when he continued to fidget, he is worse than a young human. "Really, the amount of time you yelled at us to stop moving, I would have thought you could manage it." 

He twisted his helm around to look over his shoulder at me. "You sat still Aid, it was your brothers I was yelling at." 

"Of course." I snorted, the sudden intake of air into my venting system making Ratchet jump and what I was trying to do gained yet another squiggle. "This is going to look like it was done by a sparkling." I warn him as I regard the wobbly edge of the red paint. 

"It's not my fault you're tickling." He replied as his leg twitched again, gaining him a red streak along his thigh plating. 

And here I thought he had sworn off human terminology, because that is not something that can happen with Cybertronian anatomy. "Tickling?" I have to ask, just to clarify as I move around to try and do the front of his pelvic armour. 

"Yes." He says with an air of finality as he shifts again, right as I start painting and my annoyed growl can probably be heard in medbay. Why did Sideswipe think orange paint above the medbay doors was a good idea? And why did I end up having to repaint Ratchet? My steady hands are not really all that helpful when certain mechs. Keep. Moving. 

"There. Done." Or at least, as done as it's going to get while stuck in the rather cramped medbay office. 

"Better than orange." He says as he stalks out. "I'll be back later, going to go disassemble Sideswipe." 

I am left leaning on the office door as he stalks out, and it is the small wordless burst of amused static from Hoist that prompts me to look his way. His optics are bright with laughter as he tilts his helm at me then jerks it towards the door in a clear question. 

"He wouldn't stand still." I reply to the unasked question, which only makes Hoist shake as he tries not to laugh. 

"Does he realise that the edges and streaks make it look like he's been interfacing?" 

The innocent rattle of my plating finally makes him lose it as he holds onto the berth for support and I can feel the same amusement bubbling up; Sideswipe may go for the outright obvious pranks, but I've always thought that it's the little details that work best.


	3. Ratchet

"Out." The command is so unexpected I am outside my office before I realise what has happened. Settling my weight to resist the mech pulling me along I grab onto the nearest berth with my free hand.

Hoist glares at me as he is yanked to a stop, his mass not enough to move me. "Your shift ended, if you hadn't noticed."

"I have reports that need finishing."

Hoist's optics flicker over to the other side of the medbay. "Aid is here now and you've already cleaned everything. He can finish the padwork rather than standing around doing nothing." The Protectobot in question merely nods and waves us out, and despite the full surgical mask he wears I can see his amusement.

"But."

"But nothing." Hoist cuts me off before I am able to say anything. "Doctor's orders. You need to catch up on your recharge." The tugging pressure on my arm doesn't cease and it is clear that both of them will be willing to keep nagging till I give in. "Look. We can do this the easy way or the hard way."

"Easy way?"

"You walk."

"And the hard way?"

A smirk spreads across his face. "We knock you offline and go find some mechs willing to drag you back to your quarters." I can already see the gleeful look on Sideswipe's face.

"You wouldn't." His expression doesn't change and I am forced to conclude that he would. "Fine." He is dragging me to the door almost before I have finished speaking. "So, any other orders you want to give while you are in the midst of your mutiny?"

The slag eating grin on his face makes me wonder what I have just let myself in for. "Well, if you want a professional opinion: you could do with a good scrub in the washracks, a cube or two of highgrade and a good 'facing. You're far too tense."

I suppose I should have been expecting that. Underneath the calm, competant professional attitude Hoist really is a kinky glitch. I just hope Red Alert wasn't on duty to hear that declaration, this part of the corridor is within audio range of one of his cameras and I'll never get any recharge if he gets dragged in because Hoist has been, and I quote from when he last overheard something; 'replaced with an intruder'.

"You offering?"

"I suppose somebody should make sure you follow your doctors orders."

Stopping outside my door I nod slowly. "That's very true, I am a very stubborn patient."

Hoist grins. "Very stubborn. I'll have to keep a very close optic on you."

I palm the door pad and stand aside to let him in. "You know, I'll have to keep on overworking if this is the usual treatment."

He laughs as he disappears into my washrack. "Your doctor insists that you step through here for a full checkup."


	4. First Aid

I had thought I had got out of weapons practice after I refused to use any of them or have any modifications added to my frame, Ironhide finally stalking off in a huff. 

But I am once again back on the training range. Ratchet gently adjusts my hands to a more comfortable position from where they are locked tightly around a small holdout gun. Small enough to fit into subspace rather than being a part of me all the time and it uses only penetrative rounds as opposed to energy. After all, exploding your own subspace is apparently excruciatingly painful. 

“Relax Aid. A lot of mechs will back off if they don’t think you are an easy target. Show them you are armed and they will go look for easier targets.” Ironhide did say something similar, but it seems easier coming from Ratchet because I know he only has one integrated weapon, a pulse cannon which is more a deterrent than a destroyer. 

“But for those that aren’t dissuaded you must never hesitate.” His frame is warm as he kneels behind me, hands gripping the gun over my own as he raises it to point down the target range. 

“It’s not your life that’s at stake. It’s your patients.” He closes my finger over the trigger. “Your patient is in stasis lock, they can’t defend themselves, if you don’t protect them they will be extinguished.” I expected a quick motion, but he is all but embracing the weapon, our fingers gently caressing the trigger. 

“You need to see where you are firing Aid.” It is an effort to keep my optics online as he fires again. “It won’t do any good if you miss your target.” This time he doesn’t let go, letting bullets slam into one of the targets in a spray of simulated energon. “Watch where you are firing and don’t stop until you run out of ammunition. A quick, clean deactivation is what you want.”

\------------------

“I’m armed.” I warn the mech as I step around the downed Autobot, energon still leaking from his chassis. “Come any closer and I will shoot.” 

“You wouldn’t even know which end of a gun to point at me.” The Decepticon jeers, four glowing scarlet optics locked on my empty hands, his own weapon, an axe almost as big as I am glowing with energy. 

But he pauses as I draw my weapon from its subspace holder. “Please back off.” For a moment I think he is going to do as I ask, then he shatters my dream, leaping forward with a savage growl. 

I raise my gun, centring it without hesitation on his neck. That is the weak spot of that frame type. I squeeze the trigger, the kick pushing against me and it takes all my will to keep it level as I fire. Not stopping until the loud click lets me know that I am out of ammunition. 

The sharp crack and thunk of the bullets leaving the gun and impacting my target are still ringing in my audial receivers as the Decepticon collapses. Surprise and pain still mingling on his faceplates as his optics dim, his hand dropping away from his ruined neck as his energon stains the ground. 

I am shaking by the time backup arrives to help transport my patient, but none of the warrior builds even notice the Decepticon beyond a quick sensor check to ensure he is fully extinguished. 

I calm by the time we reach the Ark, there is no time to think once I am back in the medbay as we weld and splice and bypass to keep mechs online. It is only after, when we start cleaning, work that needs no thought, no concentration, that my processor starts to wander, my hands shaking as I scrub down our tools. 

Until Ratchet comes over, something in my posture giving away that all is not well and it does not take much for him to break down the walls I have kept up, the quiet compassion in his voice meaning so many things to my scrambled thoughts; safety, security, refuge. 

I hold the gun out to him, pressing it into his hands and I know he can tell it has been fired. 

That it has been emptied of ammunition. Stark evidence of what I have done. 

He doesn’t say anything more as he sets the thing aside and opens his arms, wrapping them around me as I keen.


	5. Hoist

"You are meant to ease suffering, not prolong it." The comment was, I believe, meant to be a statement of fact, instead it came out as a cross between a plea and a whine. Unfortunately for Ironhide I am quite happily ignoring him, as I have been for the past several breems. 

The glitches think they can go out, get thoroughly slagged and then wait till Ratchet isn't on shift and come bother me for a cure. Well today I'm on strike. They'll just have to wait for Ratchet and take their chances with wrench dodging. Or of course they could go recharge away the extra charge. 

"Come on Hoist, pleeeeease?" Ironhide says as he pushes himself away from the berth he is leaning against and heads in my direction. 

Of course I use the word 'direction' rather loosely as it is more of a targeted wobble. A very uncoordinated wobble that I sidestep with ease. The inevitable finally happens as he heads towards the floor, grabbing for any support he can find. I make the only choice possible and grab the box of parts that I was cleaning before the table tips over. 

"Ow?" Ironhide asks as he stares up at me as I flash a scan over his frame. Thankfully for him the only thing coming back is the elevated level of charge in his energon and a whole host of minor systems that have shut down so that the charge wont cause any damage. But no new damage. 

"No. you're fine. Except for the still being slagged out of your own processor after a full recharge cycle." 

"Oh." He doesn't move and I am forced to step over him to rescue the table and set the box of parts back down. "You really aren't going to give me Ratch's hangover cure are you?" 

"No. I'm really not." I confirm as I once again brave the perils of navigating back across Ironhide without stepping on any part of him. It doesn't work as a strong hand settles around my ankle and yanks, and I find myself clattering to the floor. "Eeeeeep." Not what I was trying to say, but my vocaliser doesn't seem to want to work as Ironhide rolls over, his heavier frame pressing me to the floor, heat seeping from his plating as he runs a hand up the side of my chassis. 

"I got a better way to get rid of a hangover. You sure you don't want to help give me this cure?"


	6. First Aid

“You will die between us again and again and again.” I know I should be worried at that statement. But it slides off my processor like glass. High grade does tend to have that effect.

My warning messages stopped appearing a while ago. That doesn't mean there are no more, it just means they are queuing somewhere and they'll all stack up when the excess charge has been removed and my processor doesn't feel like sections are missing. Which essentially is what has happened, bits shutting down to prevent the microfilaments from overheating and fusing together.

Knowing the medical explanation for high grade energy release and subsequent system shut down really isn't helping me.

I didn't even intend to drink so much.

I had only pulled a chair up to watch the poker game over Ratchet's shoulder. Then I had been given a cube of energon by, Hound? I think. A cube that never seemed to empty.

I never saw any mech topping it up, but Jazz was next to Ratchet and with his ops training he probably could do it while singing along to the music on the local radio station and dealing the cards.

By that time the highgrade was really flowing and some bright spark decided to up the stakes.

Strip poker.

I was somehow dealt in.

That's about where my memory files start showing corruption, somewhere between losing my left greave and my right pauldron.

And also realising that Jazz and Ratchet are very good at poker and I? I am not.

But the poker game is finished now. Degenerated into piles of mechs taking advantage of the lack of attached outer plating.

I cast a wry glance at most of my armour and the much, much smaller piles beside it of gleaming red and white and black and white.

I am so slagged.


End file.
